Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

wistful eyes and a mass of golden hair. She was undeniably a girl of refine- ment and culture. The photograph showed her in what evidently was her own drawing-room. The fittings of the room were distinguishable, and the girl was seated with her back to a large grand piano, leaning an elbow upon the keyboard. We took the photograph from its frame; there was nothing written upon it. Then we rummaged through the papers on the desk and came across a note written in a woman’s small script. It gave an address in the East Sixties yust off Fifth Avenue—one of the most fashionable sections of the city. It read simply: | They wish it to be otherwise so—good-by. ELAINE. The note bore a date some three months previous to the time at which we read it. We located the name of the family living in the palatial private residence at this address. It was the name of one of this country’s most prominent financiers—you would remember it now if I were to mention it here. And I remembered then having read in the society columns of this daughter, Elaine. That night Mrs. Beacon brought in our dinner and we ate it by the bed- side. When we had finished it was nearly eight o’clock. We ordered Norton Hoorne’s car, and, locking the piano, and cautioning the housekeeper to admit no one to the studio in our absence, we drove to the address where lived this girl whose connection with the case appeared so definite, and yet, to us, so unfathomable. | | . I. Arter we had waited perhaps five minutes a young man entered the room, holding in his hand the card Dr. Johns had sent up. He was a few years younger than I—a clean cut, athletic-looking chap—a typical rich man’s son of the better sort. | “Won't you sit down, gentlemen?” He waved us back to the chairs from which we had risen, speaking, I thought, in an unnaturally low tone. “I am Mr. Henten—my father is not at home.” “Dr. Manning and myself,” Dr. Johns began, when we were seated, glanc- ing at me an instant by way of introduction. “Mr. Henten, we came here this evening to see your father on rather a curious matter. I am sure you will do quite as well.” Our young host inclined his head in agreement and waited. “T—er—must ask, Mr. Henten, that you will keep all we say strictly confi- dential?” The young man nodded gravely. “Then I will be quite frank with you. I should like to ask first—do you know Norton Hoorne?” | “I have heard of him,” said the young man. “I have been to his concerts —he is a very great artist.” I thought he spoke a little cautiously, and with a note of coldness in his voice. 51 3| 006) (Q) : (Q LN Ks 8-253" “A ouUNGGy tumn Nocturne @ For Heaven's Sake. , fF gn | ie * eee See Weer www SUV UE TUUUTEE MASI UID VETGUSsITGs OQNOWTO!! mike e_.. Kind of Love @ Au a 22 we =» Db ARAL Rosemary Clooney: Hey There ° Botcha Me * Half as Much @ This Ole Houce. =} |